


Regrets

by coaldustcanary



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Future Fic, Gen, Speculation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-24
Updated: 2017-10-24
Packaged: 2019-01-22 16:03:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12485448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coaldustcanary/pseuds/coaldustcanary
Summary: Jaime Lannister meets Bran Stark once again in Winterfell.





	Regrets

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blueteak](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueteak/gifts).



“Kingslayer.”

Jaime had heard that name spoken a hundred times, even a thousand times, but never so completely devoid of inflection as when it was spoken by Bran Stark in the sudden quiet of Winterfell’s courtyard.

"My, my. You've grown,” Jaime said brightly.

It was the most inane of replies that he offered when faced with the boy's dispassionate visage, and only touched with the faintest edge of foolish bravery, but what else was there to say, particularly for a man in his position? Bran was a boy still, even swaddled in furs and propped up in his wheeled chair. But with his lanky limbs, prominent cheekbones, and unsettlingly sharp eyes, he was a different creature entirely from the boy that Jaime recalled, even if dimly.

“More than you know.” Bran’s gaze was fixed beyond Jaime and his tired mount, beyond the guardsmen who encircled Jaime with their blades drawn and at the ready, though what he saw Jaime couldn’t begin to guess, as there was no sign of it in his face.

“So is this how it’s to be? I don’t blame you, I suppose, though I had hoped…”

“Nothing is yet certain.” Bran’s voice was quiet, but Jaime found himself biting back his own cocky words as soon as the boy spoke. For the space of a breath, then another, Bran watched as the gates behind Jaime were drawn to a close, his gaze lingering on the snowfall beyond the courtyard entry until the gate was barred, and even then he stared right through Jaime, his steaming, weary horse, and the armed men who hemmed him in on all sides, waiting.

“If we are to win this war, we’ll need every hand that can hold a blade. Even mine, feeble as it is. Bloody as it is. Cruel as it is,” Jaime said harshly.

The boy’s steel-gray eyes were fixed now on Jaime’s face, and he no longer looked beyond, but within, searching for something. Jaime felt a sudden chill, even in the bitter Northern cold, at the thought that he wouldn’t find it. His stump throbbed with fresh pain as he recalled, in hazy glimpses, pushing the boy before him to his presumed death with the hand he no longer had.

“Yes,” Bran said, inclining his head a fraction, and the guardsmen slowly drew away from their tight circle surrounding Jaime, sheathing their weapons and returning to their posts with dark looks, but not a word of objection. As they dispersed, Bran kept his gaze fixed on Jaime, his eyes still digging, probing, and seeing too much, before eventually looking away, at nothing Jaime could see.

“You should bring your horse to the stables. He needs rest. You’ll find the Lady of Winterfell and Brienne of Tarth together. You should seek them out,” Bran said tonelessly. Jaime blinked in surprise at the disinterested dismissal.

“Bran…”

“You shouldn’t regret pushing Bran Stark, Kingslayer. It was the first push of many. It wasn't even the one that killed him.”


End file.
